Minuo Caelitus updated
by makalaseri
Summary: Draco is plagued with haunting visions the summer before his sixth year. Struggling with his new gift, he is at a loss about what to do. Are his visons true or false? Will he turn to the light or remain in darkness? DMHP
1. Chapter 1

MINUO CAELITUS

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling. I am only playing in her world. Please no legal action, this is not for profit only enjoyment.

RATING: M- for Mature: for violence, death, adult themes, occasional strong language, and slash.

Chapter One: Drop of Blood, Prick of Fate

Mother and I were seated at the table, just the two of us having dinner. I missed having father at dinner with us. People think that the Malfoys are cold and unfeeling. In public we are, but in private, that's a different story. Mother and father love to laugh and joke over dinner, particularly if father brings home amusing stories about that idiot Weasley from work.

Sometimes I'll throw in a story about one of his stupid children. Like the time the girl weasel tried to kiss me, and Pansy nearly took off her head with a well cast bat-wing hex. Mother found it particularly amusing whenever she was out shopping and saw Molly (or Rolly-Polly as she's known here) Weasley plucking through the used bin at Madame Malkin's or at Flourish and Blott's.

However, now that father is in Azkaban, there are no more amusing stories at dinner. The only sounds are the gentle clinking of crystal goblets and the scratching or fork and knife on china plates. Mother sat across from me looking pale and drawn. Her dinner mostly untouched and her wine glass constantly empty as she drained the contents at an alarming speed. "How were the last few days of school, Draco dear?" She asked watching a house elf refill her glass for the fifth time.

"Worse than usual, but Potter does seem to ruin things no matter what."

"Let's not discuss that dreadful boy anymore. When I think about him, I wish the Dark Lord had killed him when he was an infant."

"Don't we all." I muttered to myself.

I watched my mother as she upended her glass, her white swan-like neck swallowing every drop. She set her glass down a bit unsteadily. "I think I will retire now," She murmured getting to her feet, swaying ever so slightly.

"Good night mother." I said as she came round the table to kiss the top of my head.

"Good night son." She sighed into my hair, "Good night."

I listened to her footsteps as she retreated down the hallway. Before she was out of hearing range, I heard her burst into tears. Her sobs echoed in my head long after I heard her bedroom door slam shut behind her. I clutched my knife in my hand so hard that my knuckles turned white, and then I plunged the knife into the roast sitting across from me. The house elf standing near me jumped and squeaked in alarm. I ignored it and pressed the blade deeper into the meat. How I wished Potter was here so I could plunge a knife into him, kill him for making my mother, for making me suffer like this.

My grip slipped on the handle and my thumb slid against the blade drawing blood. I hissed at the sharp and immediate pain, and brought the digit to my mouth. It was bleeding freely enough that as I brought it to my lips, several drops fell onto the expensive Venetian lace of the table cloth, onto my empty plate and a drop or two into my remaining glass of wine.

I sucked the wound peevishly as I added this to my every expanding list of reasons why I hate Harry Potter the boy-who-would-not-fucking-die. The coppery taste of blood wasn't entirely unpleasant, but not exactly pleasant either. As the bleeding let off, I reached for my wine glass then reconsidered. _You just bled in that, remember?_ A more fastidious part of my brain reminded me. "Yes, and I just had a mouthful of my own blood already." I growled at myself. Really, would a few more drops hurt anything? Besides, I reconsidered as I lifted the glass, it would be quite a shame to let a good merlot go to waste.

I stirred the glass in my hand, watching the dark claret of the wine swirl. As I lowered my nose to sniff the bouquet, I watched the moving liquid. For some reason I could not look away. I felt dizzy as I watched, my vision fogging. I dropped the glass, but it didn't fall, didn't spill. Everything stopped in that moment. The grandfather clock on the other side of the room ceased its ticking, the house elf, running to stop the glass from breaking, froze in mid-stride.

Then I was falling, falling into redness, falling further and further until I stopped, I hovered over a mirror and images appeared. I could do nothing but watch as they played before my eyes.

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

"Tell me what you're thinking, Draco," His voice asked softly. His face hidden in shadow. I shake my head, refusing to tell him, but I want to so badly. I jump a little when his hand finds my face, cupping my cheek, thumb tracing my lips. "How can I comfort you if you don't tell me what is the matter?" His voice is a velvet whisper across my lips.

"_He_ contacted me again, and I'm afraid that he knows about everything." I admit unable to keep secrets when he is this close to me, when I can feel his breath on my face.

"He couldn't know. We've been practicing occlumency together. He is only being paranoid, trying to keep you his scared little slave." He whispers softly as rain on flowers, his thumb still tracing my mouth in maddening circles.

"How can you be sure?" I ask, hating the naked doubt and fear in my voice.

"Because I have faith in you, and because I have to believe that all of us will come out alright in the end."

"So reassuring," I mutter bitterly. "I don't have your faith, your ability to believe-"

He cuts off my words with a kiss of such tenderness I want to cry. "I have enough faith for both of us, Draco." He kisses me again and again until he lays me back on the floor and smiles softly at me in the gloom. "Please tell me you at least believe in me." He sighs lowering his body over mine, claiming my mouth again.

"Yes," I whisper, "Yes, I believe you." I answer him pulling him down for another kiss and another and another…

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

My wand trembles in my hand. I attempt a snarl, but I stand there frozen but for the shaking of my hand. The old man is so sure I'm not here to kill him, but I have to. What can I say in the face of his soft assurances, his kindly sparkling eyes? My mouth hangs open, and I find I can't do it. I can't say those two horrible words. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. But I have to kill him; he'll kill them if I don't. I have to… Oh gods… I have to…

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

Down the corridor, past the oblivious, sleeping paintings, I ran as fast as I could. I had to get away, but where could I go to escape him? I narrowly dodged a sleepy looking Mrs. Norris. Her bleary golden eyes glared balefully at me. She saw the silver prefect badge, and she had no right to stop me and slink off to find Filch.

No, I couldn't afford to get caught by anyone tonight. My hand tightened convulsively around a locket. I had to keep it hidden, safe, away from everyone but him. _Oh gods, let him be there!_ I thought as my feet pounded down on slippery marble tiles, across ancient carpets smelling of times past, and up stairs that reached up into the very heavens. Finally, I reached the door. "Please be here… please," I whispered so very afraid, so very unsure. I took the handle in my free hand and opened the door…

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

Potter sprawled on the floor of Hogwarts express, my foot crashing down on his nose, blood blossoming across his face like a fantastic red flower…

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

"What is this?" I ask suspiciously as he hands me a package.

His smile is warm and his eyes light with humor. "Don't tell me that you've forgotten that today is your birthday."

I look up at him floored that he remembered when no one but my mother did. I feel my face grow hot beneath his warm gaze. "Of course I know what today is you stupid prat," I growl, not wanting him to see the touched amazement on my face.

"So you gonna open it, or are you gonna stare at the floor in a huff all day." He teases a great wide smile lighting up his face.

"Malfoys do not huff."

"Sure they don't."

"We do not huff."

"Like you don't flounce?"

"Flounce? How dare you. I never flounce."

"So that Saturday in Hogsmeade, when you were prancing about in your new dress robes, you weren't flouncing?"

I scowled at him, my look flashing daggers and promising a painful death.

His idiotic grin grew even wider. "Come on; open your present so we can get to work you huffing, flouncing little poof." He turned back to working on the broken hinge.

"I told you I do not huff or flounce."

"Ah, so you aren't denying being a poof?" He chuckled as he sent a wink my way.

"We all have our faults." I returned darkly.

He caught my eye and his expression became serious. "I never said that was a fault of yours. In fact, it's something I rather like about you."

What could I say to that? He went back to work, and I opened my present…

dmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdm

I opened my eyes and the glass full of wine fell and shattered on the table. The wine splashed up at me, soaking my shirt, spilling scarlet across the table cloth, crystal shards flying everywhere. The house elf shrieked in agony. "Bad Mitsy, bad," She cried out as she clobbered herself with the silver gravy boat. "Oh Master Draco! Mitsy is a bad house elf! She is so sorry sir! She will punish herself severely, yes she will."

"Never mind all of that." I growled, coming out of my daze, "Just clean up the mess."

"Yes sir, Master Draco, sir." She moaned as she began cleaning.

As soon a she'd magicked my shirt clean, I stood up and fled to my room. What the hell just happened? I thought as I fell back against my door. What the hell was all of that?

To be continued…

Well what did you think? Please drop a line and R&R. Criticism is very much appreciated. Any guesses on what's to come?


	2. Chapter 2

MINUO CAELITUS

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling. I am only playing in her world. Please no legal action, this is not for profit only enjoyment.

RATING: M- for Mature: for violence, death, adult themes, occasional strong language, and slash.

Chapter Two: Dealing…

My breathing was too rapid; someone was making little sounds like a frightened animal. I held my breath, and the noises stopped. I closed my eyes and knocked the back of my head against the door. I gained nothing for my effort. I hadn't really thought that I could fix this problem so simply. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling. The dark blue color of the coffered walls was soothing like the ceiling of a cathedral. Here and there gold foil stars twinkled. My mind was anxious for any retreat from what it just saw. I stared at those stars, and remembered.

Once when I was very small, my father had taken me to Saint Chapelle in Paris. The French King, Louis X, had built the chapel to house what he believed to be the true crown of thorns and a fragment of the cross. My father took my mother and me to hear a concert there, maybe Vivaldi, maybe Brandenburg. I can't recall. My eyes were to busy to let my ears hear. Colors like I'd never imagined shone from the windows, pictures of such beauty and delicate transparency, even the marbled floors were a feast of color and design. However, as awed as I had been when I walked in, it was the ceiling, that magnificent ceiling of blue and gold stars that drew tears from my eyes. Father said that he would capture the stars for me, and as soon as we arrived back at the manor he'd magicked the ceiling into the heavens.

My eyes were staring at those beautiful, but silly stars, and I felt as if heaven was very far away. None of what happened made any sense. I shook my head. "Snap out of it." I muttered to myself. The talking helped. My legs felt weak as I stood up, but they held me. Pacing helped when I wanted to think, so I began walking from one side of the room to the other.

What to do? What to do? What to do? I thought over and over. It wasn't very helpful. I stopped, and looked down at the carpet, long worn from other sessions of pacing. Nothing was coming to me. Usually, if I walked long enough, some answer, some sort of inspiration would come to me. I looked at the clock on the wall. Three hours had passed since I had set down to dinner with my mother. How long had I been walking? How long was I seeing things?

It occurred to me then that I was having visions. Visions. I walked to my desk and sat down on the wooden chair so hard it groaned. Thank all the gods, I'm not crazy. I'm just seeing visions. I frowned and pulled myself up until I was sitting straight. The world could be falling down around my ears, but mother's insistence on proper posture would nevertheless bid me to sit up straight. Laughter bubbled obscenely in my throat, and I choked it back. Sometimes if you start screaming you cannot stop. With me laughter could be like that. Of course, sometimes I laughed to keep from screaming. Either way, best not to do it.

I sobered quickly, drawing in a few shaky breaths. I had established that I was seeing visions, but that didn't mean all that much. Many things caused visions, and visions could mean a great number of things. I stared at the top of my desk, trying to think of what to do next. I had several books about potions out, two well-chewed quills, scrolls of parchment, a bottle of green ink, and a recently completed essay arguing the merits and detriments of using pennyroyal as a potion ingredient. The parchment caught my eye, and I remembered back to my first year when I had taken Divination.

The professor had said to write down any dreams or visions that we had so that we wouldn't loose them and could analyze them for meaning. As I reached for a sheaf of parchment, I recoiled. Trelawney was an idiot, a charlatan. Why should I do what she instructed? I'd stayed in the class with her for a grand total of three weeks before I dropped her class. My annoyance with the professor's ineptitude warred with my indecision. I sighed and took up parchment and quill. She may be a dotty, useless, old coot, but Trelawney's class was all I had to go on for the moment.

My handwriting glided across the page as I wrote, the ink sliding out of the quill green emerald grass. When I set my quill down, I had a list that looked something like this:

_Visions: June 5th 1995_

_First Vision: In a room, dark, with Potter. Talking about having met with someone. Scared of them. Who? Dark Lord? Don't know. Occlumency… Studying occlumency with Potter. He reassures me. Some kissing… gods- making out with fucking Potter?_

_Second Vision:_ _With Dumbledore, looks like the Astronomy tower. I have to kill him? Why? He's telling me I won't do it, but I'm supposed to. I'm scared, overwhelmed. What happens?_

_Third Vision: I'm running in the corridors at Hogwarts. I'm afraid. Don't want to be caught. I'm holding something hard and metallic feeling. I'm running to someone up a tower I've never been in. There's a door, don't have time to see inside it._

_Fourth Vision: I'm on the Hogwarts Express. Potter on the floor of an empty compartment. I stamp on his face. Blood pours from his broken nose._

_Fifth Vision: Looks kind of like the Room of Requirement. Potter gives me a birthday present. Why would he do that? We argue. He knows I'm gay, and says that he likes that. At least we aren't kissing here! We are fiddling with a giant wardrobe. I've seen it somewhere. I don't know._

The list is short, sketchy, and incomplete. Every minute that goes by I seem to forget more of what I saw. There was more than this that happened, but I don't remember anymore. I'm glad that I wrote this down now. If I had waited until morning, then I probably wouldn't have remembered any of it. I sighed unsatisfied with what I did know.

There were several things that bound these visions. Hogwarts. In every vision Hogwarts played a role. Even in the first vision were the room had been dark, the stone walls screamed school to me. Another thing that bound most of the dreams was Harry Potter. I shuddered in distaste, and shook my head again, a nervous habit. I didn't want to think about him like that. If I thought about it I could feel his lips on mine- not something I wanted to dwell on. Of course one of the visions of him I didn't mind so much. It had felt so good to stomp on his ugly, hypocritical face. I shuddered again as I remembered the claret red of his blood spraying out of his shattered nose. How on earth did Harry Potter end up under my heels? He hadn't moved away from the blow or reacted to it. Had I managed to petrify him?

No, better to put aside my emotions. I couldn't sort these visions out if my emotions got in the way, and, for good or for bad, I could never think of Harry Potter without emotions. I sighed and mulled over the paper. I picked up my quill again and wrote:

_Common Themes:_

_Hogwarts, Harry Potter, fear, violence, friendship…_

The ink splattered on the page when I read the last word that I'd written. Friendship? Now that was an alien concept to my relationship with Potter. We'd never been anything but rivals, enemies. I struggled back a sound too close to a moan. I had once offered my hand in friendship to him, but he'd turned me down. I didn't like that memory with that annoying sycophant Weasel laughing at my rejection, and Potter looking at me as if he hated me. His eyes were bottle green when he was angry. Gods, I hated his eyes.

My ink is the same green as his eyes, I thought. Maybe it was the hurt of that day that made me hate him. Maybe I was embarrassed. Maybe I am jealous of him. I threw the quill away in a fit of pique. I hate self analyzing. I hate Harry Potter.

I looked up at the clock, and saw it had grown very late. I was tired and confused. Tomorrow I would figure this mess out, how it happened, why, what it meant. I pulled off my clothes and got into bed. I slid my hand under the pillow and winced. My hand hurt. Oh, well. I'll deal with that in the morning too.

To be continued…

Well what did you think? Please drop a line and R&R. Criticism is very much appreciated. Any guesses on what's to come?


End file.
